From the Text Files, originally Page 3'd but because I promised (myself) I wouldn't run multiple blogs, I've moved them here.


I did it. I emailed Constant Boy last night to let him know I'm still alive.

I owe him that. And so much more, if I'm honest with myself.

It seemed like the right thing to do but now I'm unsure. There's going to be so much guilt involved, so much explaining of why I dropped off the face of the earth, of why I didn't at least let him know I was ok but had to hide. I was ready to face that last night; starlight is made for confessions. Daylight is never so easy.

Now I keep checking my email, even knowing he won't reply until tonight, if at all. If at all. Something within me hurts at that. Shame? Knowing I don't deserve a response but hoping/wishing for one just the same? Knowing he is a better person than me and would never leave me anxious and wondering and unsure?

I'll hear from him soon. He's like that.

Always.

---

Constant Boy wants details. I have none to give him. We'll end up playing 20 questions like we always do. It's a start.

I'm sick and I know it. I should go to the doctor but I won't. I'm in a place where I don't want to hear what I think is going to be said. If I can just keep going for a little longer, if I don't let anyone know, then it'll be ok. It's harder when everyone knows and it becomes some sort of morbid waiting game. I'd rather it just.. be. That way no one gets stressed and a lot of senseless conversations are avoided. I waste enough words as it is.

I'm feeling the desire to fade away. Just like always. Wanting to be, if not truly exist. If I could be a simple character in someone's dream, then I would know that soon enough they'd wake up and I could be a memory. Still there but not real. And then I could fade.

It would be quiet, then. And from here, inside, that seems like such a luxury.

---

He says if I want, he'll gladly talk about beets and noodles. Meaning, no pressure to give details - whatever I decide I want to discuss is fine with him. Friendship with Constant Boy is something I need to not take for granted. It's always precarious, always intense. I'm afraid I don't know how to talk with him anymore. I'm afraid he's going to be guarded, I'll talk my way inside again only to turn around and run away. I leave him, often. And never with any warning. I'm a terrible person for that.

I've been reading Kasparov Teaches Chess. My favourite character on the board has always been the knight. Aside from the fairy tale essence which I cherish, it is the only piece that changes direction in the course of it's move. Not even the queen is granted such powers. I respect that ability, to alter course midstride.

I've become so frustrated with cause-effect and linear time. There's something binding, imprisoning, about it all. To say "we can only move forward" implies hope that I don't feel; what if I want to go back? What if I want to veer left? It can't happen and I'm feeling claustrophobic.

I imagine a future that is so disconnected from here, my present, it can only be considered fantasy. Useless fantasy. Because I cannot change the past and I cannot turn to the side. I cannot change direction.

I am not a knight. Nor rook, bishop, queen, king. Days like today, I'm not even a pawn. I'm not even on the board. I'm a spectator in my own game and I'm pissed about it.



soundtrack: Pray for the Soul of Betty - "Some Of My Fucked Up World"